


Happy Hunting

by Thalius



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Character Study, Gen, Mandalorian Culture, Mando'a, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:15:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,220
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23902966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thalius/pseuds/Thalius
Summary: Din returns to the covert to find a new face.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 117





	Happy Hunting

It was dark when he returned. 

Using the wall as support, he navigated the steep slope of the stairs down into the covert, his helmet’s clamplight weaving as he moved. It was too late into the night to seek out Talok for help with his knee; he’d have to sleep on it and hope she would be awake before he had to leave again.

With a relieved sigh he reached the bottom of the stairs and took a moment to catch his breath. He’d have to ask her about his ribs, too.

Looking around, he registered that his helmet was not the only light source; a small paper lantern sat on a crate by the entrance, letting off a flickering yellow hue. His mouth tugged up in a faint, tired smile. Ninnette must have left it out for him. No one else would risk leaving on a light down here in the middle of the night.

He limped over to it and saw that it was not the only gift she had left him; a container of food sat on a heater plate, covered in foil. Peeling it back revealed a large serving of  _ tiingilar, _ and beside it there was a simple note that only said  _ olarom _ scrawled in neat handwriting.

Shutting off both the lantern and hot plate, he tucked the container carefully under an arm and moved towards the mess. He should clean up, stow his gear, and rest first, but he was so hungry his stomach hurt, and he wouldn’t disturb anyone in the barracks by eating in bed.

As he approached the mess he saw more light spilling out, enough that he could shut off the clamplight on his helmet. When he entered he found only two occupants; Ninnette, seated at a table with a bowl in front of her, and a little boy he did not recognise beside her, curled up on the bench and hugging his knees.

_ “Su cuy,”  _ she said, looking up at the sound of his footfalls. Her helmet was by her bowl, its owl-like visor staring up at him. There was a plait in her short, black hair, no doubt put there by one of the children.

_ “Su cuy,” _ he replied, limping over to their table and sitting down across from them. The little boy did not look up. “You’re up late,” he continued in Mando’a, setting down both his meal and his helmet in front of him.

She smiled faintly. “I could say the same. Happy hunting?”

“Hunting,” he amended, peeling off his gloves and pushing back his sweaty hair. “I’ll try to avoid chasing rich kids for a while. They hire good security.”

She laughed. “You look exhausted.”

“I am,” he agreed, untying the fork from the container and peeling back the foil. His mouth watered as the sharp smell of the spices wafted up from the container.

Ninnette gestured for him to eat before leaning down and speaking softly to the boy. He didn’t catch it, but it wasn’t in Mando’a. Right now he was too focused on the meal in front of him; the temporary break in conversation allowed him to get in a few mouthfuls.  _ Tiingilar _ was not meant to be eaten quickly unless he wanted to burn his mouth, but he was too hungry to observe regular etiquette or good sense.

“How was the haul?” she asked, turning back to look at him. Not wanting to pause in his eating, he reached for his belt and tossed her the credit pouch he’d gotten for the job. She caught it easily, and opened the mouth of it to peer inside.

“Decent,” she surmised, nudging the credits around with a finger before setting it down on the table. “I need some things.”

“We all do,” he said around his food. Realising he hadn’t thanked her yet for the meal, he looked up and nodded to the container. “Thank you.”

She waved a hand in dismissal. “Figured you wouldn’t want to miss chow tonight, and no one was in the mood to save leftovers.”

The kid beside her mumbled something, and Din finally turned his proper attention to the boy now that he wasn’t at risk of fainting from hunger. The kid couldn’t have been more than eight or nine, and he wore ragged clothes that definitely weren’t local garb.

“Slaver caravan came through the market yesterday,” Ninnette answered his unasked question, and his eyes flicked to her. “I had to go out and see for myself.”

“Dangerous,” he replied, scraping at his container. He was already halfway through his meal. 

She scoffed. “Don’t bother. I was already reamed out for it plenty. But they were selling—” She broke off, shaking her head in disgust before taking a calming breath. Her hand settled on the kid’s back. “I had to go out,” she repeated, much more softly this time.

He nodded in understanding, and saw the kid staring at him. “What’s your name?” Din asked in Basic, and the boy flinched at the direct question. His eyes swept across the table, and he leaned towards Ninnette. She spoke to him again in a dialect Din didn’t know, and the kid looked up at her before whispering something back.

Ninnette looked back up and translated. “They’re still pretty shy,” she told him, smiling faintly.

Din nodded, wiping his mouth and setting down his fork for a moment. “You bought the kid?”

Her eyes narrowed, her shoulders stiffening in defence. “Why are you asking me that?”

He didn’t respond right away, considering his words. “I want to know what kind of problems I might have if I walk around the market tomorrow,” he finally said. It wasn’t everything he wanted to say to her, but he was too tired to get into an argument tonight.

“You mean beyond the regular harassment?” she asked, her tone dry, but she sobered quickly. “But no, I paid for them. No hassle, and I made sure it was discrete. It wasn’t much,” she hurried to say, a sour look on her face. “I didn’t want to give that asshole any money, but—”

“You didn’t want to cause problems.”

“Right.” She looked back down at the kid, rubbing a hand over his back. “Their parents are dead. They don’t have any other family that they know of. It’s better than being a slave.”

Din looked back at the boy, curled up on the bench and frowning at the table in front of him. There was a tiny scar on his cheek, still shiny and pink. “Looks like a tough kid,” he said quietly.

She smiled, a look of relief on her face at his assessment. “They’re sweet. Fast learner, too. They already know how to say hi in the Tongue. Matriarch says training can begin in a few days.”

Din tapped his knuckles on the table, making the kid look up.  _ “Su cuy,”  _ he said to the boy, making sure his tone was kind.

For a moment he was silent, frowning at Din, considering him with a wary look that was too old to be on the face of a boy. Ninnette leaned down and whispered something to him—words of encouragement. The kid nodded, and his frown softened.

_ “Su cuy,”  _ he whispered back, and Din couldn’t help the smile that spread across his face.


End file.
